NEARLY 90 per cent of the wine sold in Ireland is bought to be drunk within 48 hours. No wonder then that the word "cellar" is more likely to suggest the torture chamber in The Silence Of The Lambs, or the spot where Dracula hops back into his coffin than a safe repository for wine. The notion of keeping a private stash of special bottles is dwindling - you might almost say disappearing underground.
It needn't be underground at all, of course, and shouldn't necessarily imply butlers, mansions, show-off antics or unhealthy wealth. A cellar can be anywhere cool with a more or less even temperature. For anybody seriously afflicted with a passion for fine wine, it is both good fun and good fiscal common sense.
For David Houlihan, a maintenance fitter with Smurfits, it is a large inherited cupboard in the garage, in among the bikes, the wellies and the washing machine. On the left-hand side he has fitted it out with stout wooden shelves, each supporting two or three layers of bottles - an eclectic collection of interesting wines which will improve through slumbering here a year or two.
The right-hand side is divided into two. Everyday drinking wines are at the top; underneath, neatly arrayed in a rack, are the bottles destined for serious ageing - the Chateau Talbot and Leoville Barton 1982, the year of his twins' birthday; the Chateau Palmer 1988 celebrating the arrival of his younger daughter; the Penfolds Grange 1986; the Dominus 1990; the various vintages of Tignanello and Sassicaia in there for the long haul below Chateau Gloria and Chateau Chasse-Spleen. A simple press with foam-insulated doors, a padlock and a thermometer holds about 300 opportunities for extreme pleasure.
"I cannot pass a wine shop - it's as simple as that," says the accumulator of these riches. David Houlihan's children have learned the geography of Ireland, north and south, from the locations of wine shops. He routes the walks he takes through south Dublin for the good of his health past wine shops. Even at times when money is tight and he has resolved not to weaken, he is liable to come home with a good bottle or two plunged deep in his commodious coat pockets.
"Once, when I knew I definitely shouldn't be spending any money on wine, I got an opportunity I couldn't resist," he explains in a tone of voice that puts some elasticity into "once". "I ran out of excuses trying to justify it to myself, but I bought a case anyway. I smuggled it into the garage, put the bottles in the press and quickly hid the dismembered bits of box in the bin." He didn't confess to his wife Mary for about two months.
How did it begin, this all-consuming love affair? Thirteen years ago, when the Houlihans became parents, they would sometimes stay in on a Saturday night and treat themselves to a bottle of wine with dinner. The collector casts his mind back along the learning curve and grins. "It started with white Hirondelle and slowly developed from there."
The first major influence was Robert Mooney, a Superquinn wine manager. "He invited me to my first tasting, got my nose into the glass and began to undo the layers for me," David Houlihan recalls. "I'll never forget the excitement of it. Suddenly I began to see the wine I was drinking in a whole new light." The defining moment is preserved in a bottle of 1961 Barolo in the press - the first wine of substance he sampled.
A wine appreciation course with Richard Verling took the new interest one step further in the direction of obsession. By this stage - the end of the 1980s - every issue of Decanter magazine was being devoured and the streets of Dublin scoured for its top recommendations from every wine region.
"I've given them all a fair try. I love the sensuality of Italian wines. I love Germany for its Rieslings. I'd put California in the very front rank of New World wines... but I keep coming back to France. There is something about the complexity of French wine that keeps calling you back to the glass. The only reason I don't buy first growths and top,, Burgundies is that I just can't afford them.
He has absolutely no interest, he says, in buying wine as an investment. It is purely a matter of storing up future enjoyment. "I just want to be able to taste older wines which I wouldn't be able to afford to buy later on."
It is, to some extent, a secret passion, shared with what he describes as other "closet wine lovers" but only just tolerated by his family and not revealed to workmates. "They come in after the weekend talking about some great football match. What can I say? That I had a brilliant time on Saturday night with a bottle of Brunello?"
But Saturday night is the key to the message in his bottles. "The one thing I'd love to get across to people is this," he urges. If you go out on a Saturday night, it's not difficult to spend £20 or £30. If you stay in, don't buy the cheapest wine you can lay your hands on. Spend a few pounds more and you'll drink something you will remember. Wine is a catalyst for good conversation, good food, good memories .